


Paranormal Pathology

by softwinds



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, First Time, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e06 Epidemiology, ah yes (looks at clock) it's trobed crack smut time again, butt stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28556571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softwinds/pseuds/softwinds
Summary: Abed applies a last layer of antibiotics ointment on Troy’s wounds. “At least they seem human. 70% of Americans brush their teeth at least twice a day.”“Where do they come from?” Troy flinches a little— Abed attributes it to his cold touch. “People don’t just bite other people. People aren’t cattails.”“You’re right,” Abed paces his fingers on his chin. “Ideas. Theories. Lightning round?”“Let me think,” Troy exhales sharply. “An absorbed twin’s eating me from the inside.”“New operation technique by Monsters Inc.”“We’re haunted bythe ads of Quiznos Subs.”“We’re haunted by your nana’s lost dentures.”“Aliens. Werewolves. Very reserved Draculas?”-Troy and Abed try to make sense of their Halloween night. They reach very different conclusions (and one of them involves doing things in the basement).
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 7
Kudos: 102





	Paranormal Pathology

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys I'm back!!! :D This is my first attempt in writing Abed perspective so I hope it doesn't come out too out of character. Mostly comedy and smut hehe  
> unbeta'ed so pls forgive any mistakes 
> 
> tw: non-graphic description of injuries, bad jokes (lots of them)

**7:36 PM**

One can only watch _The Mist_ so many times before starting to dream up giant praying mantises, and dreaming up praying mantises can eventually become exhaustive. 

However, there’s a showing of _Camilla_ at eight, so Abed’s still tempted to sit through Thomas Jane’s final misfortune so that he won’t miss its opening scene; He plans on switching at exactly ten from The Movie Channel to CBS for _The Good Wives_ , or to ABC for _The Forgotten_ , so that he won’t contribute any viewership to _Bonded by Lies_ starring Stephen Baldwin.

Abed is still considering his choices when Troy bursts into his dorm room. He only has a bath towel around his waist, abs shiny, chest waving rapidly, hair dripping wet. He stayed the night after yesterday’s viewing of _Marmaduke_ and plans on later returning to Pierce’s. Abed didn’t think he’d be in such a hurry.

“Hey Troy,” he greets. “Shower problem?”

“The shower’s fine,” Troy trills, his eyes large, voice high-pitched and swooshed. “I saw something— I saw something in the mirror.”

“I asked Vaughn to stop shaving his body hair in the community bathroom.” Abed frowns. “I thought he listened.”

“It’s not Vaughn.”

“Leonard’s doing it too?”

“No— it’s not a body hair thing,” Troy chews at his lower lip. “I saw _bite marks_ on my shoulders.”

“ _Bite marks._ ”

“Nasty looking ones.”

Abed stands up from the couch. He’s concerned: things already feel strange after they were mass-roofied at the Dean’s Halloween party, and mysterious marks very much sound like the next plot point in a mediocre low-budget psychological horror— and they don’t usually favor good-hearted people of color due to the primary audience base.

Those are indeed some nasty bites. One on Troy’s right shoulder and three on his left: the mark closest to the crook of his neck is the deepest and painful to look at. Abed dips his head down for a closer look, but bounces up again when he hears Troy’s breath suddenly hitches.

“We’ll need to disinfect our wounds just in case.” Abed turns to his bedside dresser. “You can sit on the couch, Troy. I’ll go find my first aid kit.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Troy replies. “I’ll uh— I’ll go get my clothes.”

**7:53 PM**

Abed applies a last layer of antibiotics ointment on Troy’s wounds. “At least they seem human. 70% of Americans brush their teeth at least twice a day.”

“Where do they come from?” Troy flinches a little— Abed attributes it to his cold touch. “People don’t just bite other people. People aren’t cattails.”

“You’re right,” Abed paces his fingers on his chin. “Ideas. Theories. Lightning round?”

“Let me think,” Troy exhales sharply. “An absorbed twin’s eating me from the inside.”

“New operation technique by Monsters Inc.”

“We’re haunted by [the ads of Quiznos Subs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cG042nkReBA).”

“We’re haunted by your nana’s lost dentures.”

“Aliens. Werewolves. Very reserved Draculas?”

“You were dreaming about us being donuts again,” Abed adds. “Wait, no. That can’t be right. That way the bite marks won’t be on your arms— They’d be on your legs.”

“Of course. Legs _always_ go first,” Troy knits his eyebrows together in introspection. “So that they won’t get in the way of rolling.”

They’re silent for a moment. Thomas Jane breathes heavily behind Abed’s TV screen, and the labored heave is the only sound in the room. Abed leans his head down to study the bite marks further.

“Troy?”

“Hmm?”

“The one close to your neck,” he hesitates. “It looks familiar. Tight alignment, strong bite with sharp canines… I’ve seen it somewhere.” Abed pauses. “Will you bring me my leftover cheesecake?”

“ _Our_ leftover cheesecake— we finished that _I Bet You Can’t_ Sundae together, technically.” Troy corrects him, already standing up. Abed runs the tip of his tongue along his upper teeth, a worrisome presentiment forming in his mind—

“It's the same print.” 

Two items sit side by side on the couch table. A phone, with a photo of Troy’s upper shoulder showing on screen; and two thirds of a key lime cake, on its edge sets a cream cheese-based dental impression.

“I,” Troy’s hand is on his forehead. “I just don’t get it. Quiznos Subs is haunting your fridge too?”

“No.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think those are my teeth, Troy,” Abed answers softly. 

“Abed! That is some really painful-looking chomps!”

“I know. And I don’t remember it at all,” Abed replies, feeling more or less apological. “Something strange must’ve happened last night.”

“Yeah, because Xenomorph wasn’t supposed to fight Codename Power Armor. Per agreement of their secret alliance, he was supposed to help Power Armor get with the ladies,” Troy threads his fingers in his hair. “ _And_ there was no lady around when we woke up! This— this isn’t right.”

Abed clenches his fists. It doesn’t make sense. Why would he munch on Troy? Was it for survival? Maybe Troy had snake venom in him and Abed tried to channel John Wayne in _True Grit_. Maybe it’s linked to last night’s mass-roofie… Someone’s attempting to hide the truth. 

He looks at his best friend, who’s also concentrating and biting his lower lip. It’s oddly fetching. Troy should never be harmed like that.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it.” He promises. “Let’s finish the cheesecake and trace our way back to the beginning.”

**8:35 PM**

Troy pulls up across the road to Greendale Library. Abed rolls down the window, waiting for their inside man to appear.

“They could’ve easily switched actors for Yen and Frank Catton.”

“What?” Troy turns to him.

“My take on Ocean’s 11 and stereotyping— I still don’t understand why Chang’s unlocking the door for us,” Abed corks his head in curiosity. “How’d you know his number anyway?”

“We— We were partners in class.” Troy purses his lips. “It was… Interpretative… butt… jousting.”

“I thought Professor Lemeshko went into witness protection.”

“He’s fine now. He’s pardoned by the Colorado Horse Union,” Troy lifts his hands up from the steering wheel. “Wait, Chang’s here.” Somewhat awkwardly, Troy slams his hands back down again. “I gotta uhhhh, _honk_ to tell him we’re ready.”

Ben Chang, wearing what seems to be pajama onesie, nods at them while twisting a key he definitely shouldn’t have at the library gate. He mouths something with a comically wide grin, but Abed couldn’t hear anything over the loud honking. They don’t get out of the car until Chang finishes his bucking-heavy exit dance.

“We’re going in.”

“Okay” Abed points to a garbage can by the building— he can see something bright yellow protruding out of its lid. “What’s that?”

“Let me— _Oh my god_ ,” Troy stumbles back, eyes large in shock. “That’s my power armor!”

 _Chest piece._ Abed notes to himself. _Broken in half,_ might be an indication of structurally weak costume design, budget confined cardboard tube choice, garbage-hating janitors with anger issues, emergency Hulk transformation, or a raccoon party gone wrong.

“I wouldn’t just take it off and let people rip it apart for no reason.” _Ah, yes, and people ripping it apart._ “Something must’ve happened. I promised you I wouldn’t take it off unless…” Troy halts his breath mid sentence, his face suddenly flushed red. “... Unless absolutely necessary.”

Abed knits his brows together. Maybe the party last night was more complex than he thought. 

Still, the walls inside the library hallway show no indication of raccoons.

Unless… “Do you remember who Jeff dressed like yesterday, and how he left afterwards?”

Abed turns to Troy, who’s turning toward him at the same time. They might be onto the same path, he thinks, _a path to conclusion._

-

“Wait, Abed. Is that what I think it is? Ectoplasm?”

“Sorry Troy. From the smell I think it’s a janitor having a breakdown in the middle of scrubbing the floor.”

-

“It’s so cold in here. Freezing.”

“You can have my hoodie. But Be careful with the pockets. I sampled some punch residue in ziplock bags and I’m not sure they’ll hold.”

“I’m not 21 yet, Abed.”

-

“Who do you think is strong enough to completely shutter the study room’s door,” Abed narrows his eyes. “Troy?”

“I’m _not_ black Hulk.”

“Think about seltzer water. Vanilla Ice. The ending of _Quantum Leap_.”

“I wouldn’t need a Halloween costume if I have a secret identity! I could just finally be myself without the society’s judgement!”

“Unless the Hulk also wants to be Codename Power Armor for a day. Or Eddie Murphy.”

“Or Lionel Richie. That was my second choice if I mess up the mustache.”

**9:30 PM**

“Do we really have to be here?” Troy pushes open an unlocked door and flicks on the light switch. “What even is this place? Basement isn’t where good stuff happens.”

“Looks like the storage room.” Abed guesses. “With half the shelves fallen.”

The storage room is still dim even with ceiling lights on. Abed looks around, and realizes they’re surrounded by leftovers from Greendale’s past events. Maybe it’s all the plushes and posters from Family Day, maybe it’s the distinctiveness and implication of a creepy basement itself being their new location setting, Abed feels something bopping in and out of his memory, not a whole lot but the emotions are distinct, like a whale having a quick breach. 

“Troy?” He looks up at the tiny window hanging high on the wall. “I think I’m having a flashback.”

“ _Wellllll_ ,” Troy pronounces the one syllable word as if it’s made of ten. “... Me... too.”

“You were up on the shelf.” Abed continues. “I remember being anxious.”

“Okay… and I was… moved?”

“And we had a conversation.”

Troy freezes still beside him, not knowing where to place his hands. He looks like he wants to say something, but all sounds are trapped inside his mouth with exit denied. _Perhaps it’s because of what he said?_ Abed reckons. _Then it really happened._

Then does it mean— Yes. He think he’s finally figured it out—

“There’s only one explanation.” Abed takes in a deep breath, satisfied with his conjecture.

“Yeah,” Troy shuffles his feet, kicking lightly. “I know.”

“Wanna say it at the same time?”

Troy lets out a sharp sigh. There’s a strange look on his face: his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are now skittish. Abed wonders what it means. “Sure. Why not.”

“There was a zombie outbreak at Greendale—”

“— We had gay sex last night in this storage room.” Utters Troy, awkwardly leaning back to prop his elbow on the nearest shelf.

They stare at each other.

“Troy…?”

“I meant, uh,” Troy pulls himself upright. “Of course! Zombies! We- we said the same thing.” 

He pauses a beat. 

“Uh. _Zombies_?”

“Well,” Abed starts slowly, still digesting Troy’s previous statement. “First of all, your exoskeletons were broken and scattered around the library entrance.”

“Yeah— and we promised we’d only take off our costumes if absolutely necessary.”

“Which means it came off due to outside pressures, since we’ve ruled out the raccoons,” Abed taps his fingers on his lips. “Therefore you were fighting.”

“Or—” Troy contests almost coyly. “I took it off willingly because it was... _absolutely necessary_ ,” he darts his eyes to the side. “‘Cause I was preparing for… actions.”

Abed stops and considers Troy’s reasoning. It’s certainly _not_ impossible— How come he overlooked an entire branch of plausible events in the first place? Ah, right, because the autistic-coded detective trope is only a cheap plot device by major cable TV— he quickly forgives himself.

“Okay,” Abed decides to continue. “Then, as we both remember, Jeff wasn’t wearing his jacket when we left the building. We saw Rich the Banana Doctor in the parking lot, and _he_ had Jeff’s jacket on _his_ arm.” 

“Right! Jeff never lends his clothes to people. He always says we’ll stretch it! He even used the same excuse to Magnitude. That man was like, five foot three.” 

“And Rich is way bigger than Magnitude.”

Troy sighs, almost dreamily. “And Rich is so buffed.”

Abed nods. “So Rich must’ve taken the jacket by force, which isn’t something a _normal_ Rich would do. He wasn’t himself when he did it.”

“Or, maybe, _Jeff_ … wasn’t himself. Maybe he had a moment of weakness. Maybe he forgot his own clothes, after they,” Troy gestures wildly in midair. “You know— it was _intense_! He even had scratches on his neck!

“ _Oh_ .” Abed frowns. Troy’s right. He never really considered it that way; he assumed the scratches were from a zombie cat or something. _Jeff’s bisexual_. That would certainly explain his obsession with assessing the attractiveness of men. “So you think Jeff came out last night?”

“I just think,” Troy gulps nervously. “Okay— I can’t tell you the names, but I’ve been informed that some other people were also exploring their... intimacy... options. So, maybe, something _really_ happened last night.” He closes his eyes. “And the mess all around the library... There were a lot of limbs!”

“I assumed it was zombie super strength.” Abed admits. “And the flashback we just had.”

“Ye- yeah?”

“You said you love—”

“You— you don’t have to repeat it.”

“And I said _I know_ . Like in _The Empire Strikes Back_ . One only pays homage to _that_ scene in dire situations.” Abed closes his eyes, imagining Troy’s epic escape, his backflip through the tiny window, grabbing zombie’s collars in each hand and banging them against the wall. “The zombies were closing in on us. I told you to go because there’s no hope left on this side.” Abed continues. “And I bit you hard on the shoulder some time after that.”

He anticipates Troy’s comment. 

“Maybe I.. wasn’t paying homage.” Troy sputters.

He takes a wheezing breath.

“We, you know— and during that I said I love you— and you bit me— it happened in _Game of Thrones_! Or I told you I love you first, and you said I know, and we... and you bit… me.”

Abed blinks.

“It’s stupid.” Troy tries to turn away. “It was zombies! Forget everything I just said!”

“Troy.”

“I just couldn’t stop thinking about it—”

“Troy?”

“— You were wearing a spandex suit! It’s designed to hug the body!” Troy looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “What was I supposed to do!”

He jerks his head to the side, shoulders bobbing. Abed opens his arms, hoping that Troy can find some support against chest. He does, and Abed gently wraps his arms around his best friend’s back. He isn’t entirely confident on what he should do next. But if Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, Taye Diggs and Nia Long have taught him anything— it’s that in situations like this he must stay clear, direct and specific to not risk missing the point he wants to convey.

“Hey Troy?”

Troy mutters something against Abed’s upper arm, its content muffled in his cotton zipper hoodie. 

“Your reasonings,” Abed continues, as softly as he can manage. “I think they make a lot of sense.”

Troy picks up his head and stares at Abed with teary eyes. “... They do?”

 _Clear_ . “Yes.” _Direct._ “I think I would have wanted to sleep with you if you do like me more than a friend.” _Specific._ “Even in the library basement storage room.”

He pulls back a bit and looks down at Troy. His jaw drops open; his eyes are large and unblinking like he’s forgotten how to move. 

“Troy?” Abed feels the grasps tighten on his waist. “You’re still hugging me. You aren’t supposed to keep hugging me if I said something wrong.”

“I,” Troy’s speech is slurred. “I _like you... more than a friend?_ ”

“Cool.” Abed corks his head to the side. He’s glad that Troy finally got his feeling out, but somehow he seems even more nervous than before. “Cool cool cool.” He considers for a quick second— oh. Right. If it isn’t obvious. “Me too. You’re one of the most important people in my life. I don’t see your emotional vulnerability as a showcase of weakness. You _would_ still look good in a Lionel Richie mustache. And I also find you very attractive without one.” 

Suddenly the fingers on his waist are gone. He’s driven backward by a hand near his collar, his shoulders almost knocking over an empty shelf. Troy’s mouth is on his, their lips firmly pressed together, but with all movements halted in unplanned self-effacing. Abed is clamantly aware that as for now it can still count as a friend kiss (unless _Scrubs_ lied to him. _Scrubs_ never lies), so he parts his lips to show Troy that he has the permission to be less than perfectly chaste.

“Mphhg,” Troy gasps under him, making the first attempt, and Abed's glad to follow. Abed opens his eyes because he wants to see: Troy’s face is soft at this angle, like he’s altogether melting into the kiss. 

The need for air eventually pulls them apart.

“Reenactment.” Abed says.

“What?” Troy manages.

“We can still make up for our lost memories if either of our hypotheses is true,” Abed whispers wishfully. “We can use the Dreamatorium.”

“Right.” Troy gulps, his chest raising.

“So we should go home.”

“I—,” Troy bates his breath. “Actually… Abed?”

“Yes?”

“So. Maybe,” Troy’s voice is high pitched. He moves his hands to Abed’s forearms, grasping tightly and crumpling his sleeves. “Since it might have happened here...”

-

Troy’s reconstruction of last night involves a lot of kissing. Abed’s fingers intertwine with Troy’s, pinning his hands above his head and against the wall (gently, of course— despite Troy’s descriptions, Abed still settles naturally into Stanislavski's System). He curves his tongue behind Troy’s lips, feeling the wrists wriggling under his, and the hips hectically bucking against his own. There’s a sweet tingling sensation all over his body, warmth streaming under his skin. 

Abed sighs, wallow even to his own ears.

Small, fluttered noises come from Troy’s throat. Abed pushes a knee between the legs under him. Troy’s wearing his usual relaxed fit jeans, and it’s shockingly ineffective in concealing his hard-on— the outline of his cock weighs on Abed’s thigh confidently, unlike its owner, who squeaks in surprise, pulling back his lips and gasping sharply.

“It’s— been a long time,” Troy flashes Abed an embarrassed smile, voice broken. “Barely touched myself since our group decision.”

“Group decision?”

“Fuuuuck,” Troy whines, grinding up Abed’s leg. “Can we— talk about it— later?”

Abed nods. He arches his back and sets his forehead on Troy’s shoulder, focusing on the sensation scaling up his body. Troy’s hands work like a tricksy spell, magnifying every little feeling, every single detail he expects to encounter so they can turn his nerve center into a Chair-O-Planes ride, and every seat on that ride is made of little Tilt-A-Whirls.

Talking about... carnivals.

“Leftovers from STD fair are on the shelf behind us,” Abed recalls. “There’s at least tissue and lubes. Did we use them last night?”

“ _Oh_.” Troy freezes for a second. “I think— yes. I think we—” Abed can feel Troy’s shoulders panting against him. “We— used them.”

“What did we do?”

“Maybe we did…” The end of his sentence dissolves in unintelligible mumbles.

“You have to tell me, Troy.”

“...Butt stuff...”

There’s no un-STD Fair-branded (and therefore unbroken) condom in the labeled boxes. However, with a strange sense of anticipation, he thinks he knows exactly what took place if Troy’s correct. 

He kisses his friend one more time and leans close to his ear. “I’m going to use my fingers.”

“Yes, okay, _ohmygod_.” Troy groans cuttedly, fingers digging into Abed’s back like a desperate man hanging off a cliff. Finally, he lets go and squirms around following Abed’s guide, pressing his palms against the wall. His belt is loosened. Abed runs his thumbs under Troy’s waistline and tugs his jeans and boxers down. He smacks forward lightly— and his hands decide to stay exactly where they end up. Troy's ass fills between his fingers when he gently presses in. Abed bites down his lower lip to avoid making a sound.

He steadies himself.

“I’ll go slowly,” he drizzles out some lube, attempting to warm it in his palm. “And faster when you’re used to it… If that’s what you have in mind.”

“Y-yeah.” Troy trills. “That’s good.”

“Tell me when to start.” 

“Just… whenever you want?”

“I want you to be ready,” Abed trails up his index finger up between Troy’s thighs. Troy jumps up a little at the touch, but Abed holds him down with a firm squish (it works on cats _and_ ex-football players, Abed has learned). “You need to relax.”

“Shit. Okay,” Troy tries to swing himself backward, his voice small and plodded. “ _... do it now_.”

“It usually takes you longer to relax? I could hear it when you slept over—”

“Abed!!!”

Right. Abed decides to follow the instruction. He pushes the first knuckle in, slow as promised. Troy wheezes against him, his knees shifting; Abed can feel his own cock _jump_ inside his boxers— it’s still too tight, despite what Troy’s stated. He pours down some more lube, a portion of which gliding down and drooping along Troy’s legs. Abed scoops it up and presses them back in: the man reacts with a dragged-out, muffled “mghh” sound, spreading his thighs further apart. 

Cautiously, he starts working his wrist back and forth. He zips down his pants with his spared hand, palming his own cock with a matching rhythm. He can feel the muscles rimmed around him begin to relax. 

“You’re doing very well.” 

Troy’s breaths are getting louder and faster, but way more modulated than a minute ago; his waist begins to roll, and his erection bounces earferly against his lower belly. He’s certainly ready for more this time.

“Do you like it?” Abed adds his middle finger along with the first. “Is this better than doing it yourself?” Troy groans, loudly, and Abed’s promptly conscious that his surveying sounded a lot like dirty talk. “Tell me what to do next, Troy.” He harnesses his newfound power. “Tell me how to make it good.”

“Harder,” Troy cries out. “Curve-curve your fingers down.”

Abed feels a twinge of excitement in his stomach. He arches his knuckles at a small angle and pushes in further, until his fingers are swallowed up to their bases. The pitch of Troy’s voice gets higher and higher as he’s being increasingly intensely pistoned. He shivers after a third finger, shoving himself back until his buttcheek’s pressed against Abed’s hip, thin sweat warm on Abed’s boxer. Abed fucks him nice and fully, decisive with each stroke, until Troy becomes a disheveled mess. His inhales and exhales are tousled, and Abed knows that he’s getting close— but he also has a plan in mind, this simply won’t do. 

“Troy?” He pulls his fingers away, purposefully slow so Troy can have time to answer. “You— you need to turn around and face me.”

Troy arches his back, his hips twitching at the loss of physical contact. “God,” he gasps and shakily nods, and Abed tugs his upper body up by the forearm. “ _Okay_. Okay.” His back thumps softly against the wall as Abed pushes himself into another kiss, their lips crushed together, swallowing a cloud-soft moan. He takes them both into his hand and squeezes. Troy’s hands desperately map at his side but can’t seem to land, grasping on and twitching off as if Abed’s made of scorching coal. 

“Bite me,” he asks. 

“What,” Troy whimpers. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, we have to. For the narrative coherence,” he spurs, leaning forward to offer his shoulder. “Also—”

Troy’s teeth sink down his skin as his body shudders against his chest. Abed’s legs suddenly become jello-y, his palm wet and messy and waves of roaring, overcoming white-heat steep through all his muscles. He screws his eyes shut, his vision lit up with fireworks like a Tolkienian hobbit party.

When his breath is finally back to its pace, Abed maps down his hands from Troy’s waist to the back of his thighs. His skin is slick, and the warmth makes his spine all tingly again. 

Troy’s lips glide away from his shoulder, leaving the spot alone and nipping. He’s still panting, and his voice is small. 

“So. We,” he rasps. “... Wow.”

**11:25 PM**

Abed is thoroughly satisfied with their adventure tonight. 

As a perfect post-credit scene, he’s actually spooning Troy in his bunk bed after some cleaning up, an hour in the Dreamatorium and subsequently some more cleaning up. His best friend’s chest rises and falls peacefully under his palm, and everything feels so cozy, as if they’re in a cloud made of s’mores and the spirit of feel-good Holiday commercials. If there’s actually a lesson in this: he learned that in the future he should definitely rely on Troy’s judgement more. 

For instance… Maybe they _should_ be living together.

He should tell Troy in the morning, Abed thinks as he drifts into sleep. _Maybe he should propose the idea on air too._

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this... filling the pages with my dumb jokes..... Hope you liked it too!! :>  
> my tumblr is [softhauntedwinds](https://softhauntedwinds.tumblr.com)  
> Comments and kudos are so so welcomed QvQ


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